


Thunder Song

by almaasi



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: (when they’re adults), Adventure, Age Regression/De-Aging, Angst, Autistic Julian Bashir, Babel Trek Open Project (Star Trek), Cardassian Culture, Childhood Friends, Communication, Cuddling & Snuggling, First Kiss, Fluff, Goodbye Universal Translator, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Illustrated, Kid Fic, M/M, Romance, Singing, Thunderstorms, but like... soft empathetic angst?, cardassian language, probably set during season 6
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-26
Updated: 2020-01-26
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:55:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22412110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/almaasi/pseuds/almaasi
Summary: After crash-landing on a stormy L-Class planet, Garak and Bashir begin to de-age rapidly. Now a scrawny pre-augment Julian must take shelter with six-year-old Elim, a tentatively murderous but desperately lonely boy. Julian can barely speak – and without functioning translators, Elim’s words are useless. But what they can do... is sing.
Relationships: Julian Bashir/Elim Garak
Comments: 42
Kudos: 337
Collections: The Babel Trek Open Project





	Thunder Song

**Author's Note:**

> Beta’d by the most excellent [perphesone](https://perphesone.tumblr.com/), and my favourite (and only) sister [Amara](https://sweetdreamspootypie.tumblr.com/). Writerly support provided by the delightful [anupalya](https://anupalya.tumblr.com/)!
> 
> This fic wasn’t specifically written for the [Babel Trek Project](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/BabelTrek), but it was so completely relevant that I just kept it in my drafts for a month after writing it so I could post at the right time c: My thanks to [conceptadecency](https://conceptadecency.tumblr.com/) for doing DS9 fandom things while I’m also doing DS9 fandom things. How fun.

“There, see! What did I promise you?” Julian beamed, gesturing at the Ferengi ship’s front viewscreen. “Deep Space Nine awaits. The journey home _is_ always shorter.”

In the co-pilot’s chair, Garak leaned back, humming thoughtfully. “I’ll admit I’ve had very few journeys... ‘home’, so I couldn’t say if that were true.”

“But did this trip seem shorter on the way back?”

“Obviously.” Garak reached to adjust a control, eyes on the screen. “We took a _freighter_ out. And as much as I despise the Ferengi technology, it is marginally more efficient.”

Julian gave his Cardassian friend a discerning look. “You’re just trying not to seem too smug because _you_ were the one who re-hijacked this stolen ship. Practically completed our away mission all by yourself.”

Garak chuckled. “Is that who you think I am? Pretending _not_ to be smug? On the contrary, my dear doctor, I believe the credit for these few days of success belongs firmly to you. What do you say we celebrate with dinner once we reach the station?”

Julian grinned. “Sounds lovely, Garak. I could do with some – ooh, spaghetti. With tomato sauce. And meatballs.”

“Meat... _balls_ ,” Garak repeated, a tinge of disgust in his voice.

“But you know what I really, really want? To sleep in a real bed. Freighters and Ferengi ships really are slack in the comfort department. And...” Julian cocked his head, adjusting course to graze past a star, “as embarrassing as it is to admit, I miss my _bear_. Even a grown man needs a good cuddle once in a while.”

Garak was smiling. Julian could tell.

“Kukalaka,” Garak murmured, a moment later. “Quite interestingly, doctor, the moniker by which you call your plush companion has a relevant connotation in the Cardassian language.”

“Oh?”

“ _Kuk’la_ ,” Garak said, “which means ‘holding’, ‘grasping’, or ‘clutching’.”

“Oh, I see what you mean. That is similar.”

“Just the word alone brings back a distant memory of mine,” Garak said, eyes glazing a little as they drifted towards the station, which was still an hour’s journey away at three-quarter impulse. “A... a rhyme, I suppose. A poem.”

Julian turned away from the viewscreen to give Garak his undivided attention. “Oh, _do_ tell.”

Garak shot him a smile. “Always the most eager of xenoanthropologists, doctor,” he said fondly. “Ah, I suppose... Hm.” He glanced away, thinking. Then, carefully, he began to recite: “Listen closely to the wind... Ear holding to the ground... Listen carefully to the water-flow—

“Garak, you’re speaking in Standard,” Julian complained.

“I most certainly am not.”

“Well, the translator’s translating.”

“How unfortunate.”

Julian sulked. He sighed towards the viewscreen, steering the ship to give a wide berth to an L-Class planet with an unusual haze over its surface.

“The poem is designed to be sung,” Garak said. “Long, rising and falling notes, often performed by multiple children, or by parents to a child. It’s most beautiful when sung in harmony.”

“Like Church choirs,” Julian supposed.

Garak tilted his head.

Julian laughed off the confusion. “I’ll explain some other time. Right now...” He tutted, then said, “Oh, what the hell. Computer—”

The Ferengi ship gave a blip of acknowledgement.

Julian instructed: “Switch off my Universal Translator.”

Garak looked at him in surprise. “Doctor, wha’kn d’nova inta—”

He stared at Julian as Julian stared at him. Then Garak started to laugh, and shook his head. “Iknal la rak tesmakor pirna, in amdor Jul’ian.”

Julian’s grin grew slowly up one side of his face. “You sound beautiful.”

Garak was taken aback. “Pok ir?” He chuckled.

“Sing me the poem,” Julian pleaded. “I want to hear it.”

Garak looked mildly chagrined. “Pok far’en ja karmagi, feok’a ra kinka.”

Julian didn’t need to understand the words to understand the sentiment. “Fine then, spoilsport, you don’t have to sing.”

Garak looked relieved. “Telo, ock im derak...” He cleared his throat in preparation. Then, as before, he recited with a faraway look in his eyes...

“Petra kin’tah imla tor...”

 _Listen closely to the wind_ , Julian remembered.

“Isna kuk’la imla nor...”

 _Ear holding to the ground_.

“Petra kul’tah imla telras...”

 _Listen carefully to the water-flow_.

Then came the final line of the stanza, which Julian hadn’t heard yet. “Isna kuk’la imla kor.”

It was so similar to the second line that it was easy to guess its meaning. _Ear holding to the sound._ Perhaps the last word could have been something related to ‘wind’ or ‘ground’, but, given the poetic context...

Julian smiled widely as Garak went quiet. “That really was gorgeous, Garak. I know I said you didn’t have to sing, but—”

“ _Dek_ deonmak lon ras, doctor.” A firm no.

Julian was surprised that even without the translator, the word ‘doctor’ translated. Almost as if Garak said it as a proper noun, as though it was Julian’s _name_ , or a term of endearment, not as a reference to his profession. Interesting.

Something began to flash on the screen before them. Julian looked, but didn’t understand anything. It was all squiggles to him.

Garak’s eyes widened. “Oh, s’vak,” he swore.

Something slammed the side of the ship, hard. Julian was flung from his seat; the floor shook, sirens blared; the ship began to spiral. Garak yelled incomprehensible instructions and pawed at the controls but the console was _sparking_.

Julian hauled himself back to his chair but his fingers neared the console and sparks showered him; gas blew boiling hot from a nearby pipe, and Julian was forced to turn away, arm over his eyes as they began to sting.

“Doctor!” Garak shouted over the roaring, wailing noise. He pointed desperately to a button on Julian’s side of the panel. Julian didn’t know what it was but he lurched to slam a hand on it. The view through the screen ahead began to turn, and Garak steered as carefully as he could, while Julian tried to keep his head down, breathing whatever oxygen was left in the cabin.

Julian looked up, eyes watering. “Computer—” he coughed, “thh— Turn on my translator!”

But the controls were glitching out. Garak manually _forced_ the ship to turn back for the planet they’d passed.

Heart pounding, vision blazing in popping colours, Julian stretched for the communications relay. “Mayday, mayday. This is – hff – St-tarflh’ht Chief Medical Officer Julian Bashir in c— C-kk— Command of Ferengi ves— Help—”

He sent the transmission on all frequencies and turned away, coughing, arm crooked around his nose and mouth. The engine was whirring now, its hum swiftly rising to a high-pitched whine. They’d breached the outer atmosphere of the L-Class planet; now the view ahead was a pale, glowing blue, and white flames lashed across their damaged prow as they plummeted. Part of the back wall ripped away and tepid wind blasted in.

Forced breathless, Julian turned to Garak, looking to him for guidance. He didn’t seem as affected by the change in air pressure, nor the gas leak.

Garak gave Julian a grim look, and Julian’s hope sank. They were going to die.

Soft-eyed, Garak reached out a grey hand across the sparks.

Julian reached back and held it. This was it. Blaze of glory. At least he’d die hand-in-hand with someone he—

Garak dragged Julian from his seat, and Julian stumbled where he was led, clutching his chest in pain as he fought for air. Garak let go for a split-second to wrench up a floor panel, and with expert speed, he clapped a Ferengi breathing mask over Julian’s face, handed him a sack of supplies, took his own – but then with one glance outside he realised there was no time left to escape, so he grasped their bodies together, arms tight around Julian’s head. With his breathing apparatus finally switched on, Julian took a deep, relieving breath of clean air, just enough to get his strength back – and he used that strength to hold onto Garak, their chests pressed so close that he felt Garak’s stubborn heartbeat like it was his own. 

The ship _thumped_ down, rushing along the planet’s surface but dragging slower and slower, becoming sluggish... until it stopped.

Julian waited for a bigger thump, or an explosion – but none came.

Garak gave a hesitant flinch, still holding Julian. Julian peeked out, seeing the cabin flashing a dozen shades of red, white sparks spewing through floods of gas and steam. But there, out through the viewscreen, lay a sandy expanse, pale orange and gleaming under a desert sun.

Air swished hot over Julian’s cheeks as Garak gave a huff of relief. They pried themselves from each other’s arms, looking at each other uncertainly. Julian saw something dark and intense in Garak’s blue eyes.

“Ke du perik, doctor?” Garak asked, a hand slipping to Julian’s shoulder.

“I— I’m fine,” Julian murmured through the mask as it fogged up with his exhale. “We need to get out of here.”

Garak nodded. He took Julian’s hand again, which was oddly comforting. Finding that the floor exit was blocked by the ground, Garak wrapped his hand protectively in the bottom edge of his tunic, crouched to wrench a flaming cable out of the floor grate, then stood and aimed the flame at the part of the back wall with the absent panel. Within half a minute the sealant had melted. Julian gave it three good kicks, harder each time – and the wall dropped back. They were free.

Julian laughed, stumbling out first onto hot sand. Garak followed, a hand set protectively on Julian’s lower back.

For a few steps, Garak limped a little on his left leg, his other hand rubbing his chest like it ached. He then stopped and nodded, gesturing to the breathing mask Julian wore and mimed removing it.

Julian glanced down, switched off the supply from the pack dangling behind him, and lifted away the mask. “Ahhh,” he sighed, eyes up to a perfect blue sky. “This isn’t so bad. Looks like there’s a storm on its way, though, see that?” He nosed towards a murky black shroud, creeping in from a corner of the sky.

“Onka bettun deno simla,” Garak said ponderously, looking around, one hand over his eyeridges to shield his gaze from the sun.

“I’m sure you’re right,” Julian said, starting to trudge away from the wreckage of their ship. “But before we do that, we’d better find shelter.”

Garak snorted and gave him a bland look. “Tema _os_ idak pok dem senka.”

Julian gave a sheepish smile. “Oh. Find shelter. That’s... what you just said, wasn’t it?”

“Indeed.”

Julian startled. “Pardon?”

Garak looked back as he walked ahead, one hand on his injured thigh. “Pok senka, ‘indeed’.”

Julian chuckled, hurrying after his friend, putting the breathing mask into his pack, then shucking the supplies more comfortably over his back. “I suppose you must’ve picked that word up from me.”

“Pion Constable Odo.”

Julian chuckled. “Or from him, yes.”

They moved on across the sands, finding hard rock and soft rock that sagged under their weight, tripping sometimes but never falling.

“I think the emergency signal transmitted,” Julian said, conversationally. “With any luck someone at the station already got it and they’re sending a runabout to fetch us as we speak.”

Garak hummed. He paused, looking about. Then he pointed at something near the golden, dusty horizon. “Doctor, is im kink’la porra?”

Julian squinted. Then his eyes widened and he grinned. “Hah! Genetically enhanced vision, and I’m still beaten by a _lizard_ when it comes to finding safe places to hide from the weather.”

Garak gave him a dry look, but smiled. “Geim movok.” He moved on, and Julian followed, heading for the rock crags, maybe about half a kilometre away.

After a couple of minutes, Garak noted, in a curious tone of voice, “In makma-nor renom finna do inga.” He patted his chest, then rubbed his thigh. He looked at Julian in confusion. Then shook his head.

“What?”

Garak grimaced in frustration, then apparently decided to demonstrate: he reached close, and pinched Julian’s wrist.

“OW!” Julian slapped Garak’s arm. “What was that for?”

Garak placated him with a soft look and soft murmurs, hands patting down. He then reached for the bit he’d pinched, and rubbed it until it no longer hurt. “Renom finna do inga.” He pointed at his chest, then his thigh.

Julian squinted. “You want me to pinch you?”

Garak rolled his eyes. “Remon. Finna. Do. Inga.” He growled. Then he huffed, and stormed off.

Julian trotted after him. Garak was moving especially fast, no longer limping. He was in surprisingly good shape, actually... Was it a trick of the light or did he look a bit thinner than he had on the ship? No...

Julian tilted his head. Wait. _Yes_. Garak’s usually tight-fitting tunic looked baggy now.

Julian ran to Garak and grasped his arm, stopping him. Their eyes met. Julian breathed, shocked to see Garak’s skin was brighter and glossier, his eyes more alert.

“Garak...” Julian’s breath fell from him. Realisation struck him with chills, and he gasped out, “You don’t hurt anymore. Your chest, your thigh – the pain’s gone.”

Garak threw up his hands in annoyed jubilation. He then muttered something snide and deprecating as he turned away, which Julian took to be an insult against his supposedly superior intelligence.

With a wry smile, Julian went after him. “Garak—”

Garak glanced back. Then he stopped still, eyes caught on Julian’s face.

A warm hand cupped Julian’s jaw, and Julian didn’t pull away.

Garak stared. “Doctor, du...”

Julian searched his eyes. “What, what’s wrong?”

But he realised what was wrong, as directly before his eyes, a scar on Garak’s forehead vanished. Julian stepped back in shock. He looked down at his own hands, and saw the skin grow tauter, nails better kept, the way they had been when he’d had more time to devote to self-care. He wrenched up his Starfleet jacket sleeve and saw his freckles changing second-by-second.

“Oh my God.” He looked up in horror at Garak, who suddenly looked two years younger. “We’re going back in time.”

Garak was examining Julian’s face still, worried now.

“Getting younger,” Julian breathed. “Oh, God, what if we— What if our entire lives reverse? We end up as babies? Or vanish from existence entirely? What is anyone going to find when they rescue us now?”

Garak shook his head. “Pok... Pok dinka kosk.”

They gazed at each other as years evaporated from their faces. Julian blinked twice at Garak, wondering what kind of person he was. Then he startled, and gasped out, “I’m forgetting. I’m forgetting everything— I can’t—” He looked around. “Where are we? How did we—?” He looked hopelessly at Garak. “I barely know you. I know I’m supposed to know you, I know I _do_ know you but I-I-I don’t—”

Garak rushed to him, holding the sides of his face tenderly. “Yunthal pok junka kinak’a chance, in amdor doctor...” In a flash Julian understood only the word ‘chance’ – then Garak sighed, shut his eyes, and kissed Julian on the lips, deeply, desperately.

Julian’s breath lodged in his throat.

He shoved Garak away, snarling. “Get off me. Who the hell do you think you are? You can’t just _kiss_ people like that. Buy me dinner first, damn.”

Garak stared. He tilted his head, then gave Julian a lascivious look, eyes admiring Julian’s body in a rather obvious way. “Hmm, nol senakim?” He bit his lower lip. “Mm.”

Julian curled away from the stranger’s gaze, feeling vulnerable and flustered. Then he glanced around, and saw a desert in every direction. “Where are we?” He looked at his companion. “You’re not Starfleet.”

The man looked offended. He chortled, and turned away with a disgusted look on his face.

He headed off, and after a moment, Julian realised he was bound for a set of rocks not too far away. Julian took good stock of their surroundings, then made chase, calling, “Wait! We— We’re trapped here, aren’t we? There’s a smoking wreckage back there. Ferengi, by the looks of things. We must be the only survivors, I wouldn’t have left anyone behind...” He kept step with the older man, considering the stern set of his shoulders and the dispassionate look in his eyes when he looked back.

“You’re Cardassian,” Julian said.

The man snorted. “Gein’tah.” _Obviously_.

“You can understand me.”

“ _Gein’tah_.”

“But I can’t understand you,” Julian mused. “Or, at least, not directly. I think I understand your body language. You’re annoyed at me.”

The man shot him a cold look.

“Why?”

“Starfleet,” the man said simply. “Fed-eration. Kulnih du fraik.”

Julian bristled. But regardless, he was excited to meet a new alien. “I’ve never seen any Cardassians on Earth. Did you come far?”

The man gave him a confused look.

Julian shrugged. “I, um. I’ve almost graduated Starfleet Medical. Are you—?”

He felt a distant mental twinge, and forgot what he was saying. They kept walking, Julian half-aware they had a destination, but paused every twenty feet or so, looking around, surprised every time to find himself in a desert with a Cardassian.

“Not very talkative, are you?” Julian muttered, as they approached the shadow of a set of rocks. He began to prance up the surface, hands and feet bouncing between crags. His uniform felt a little loose around the shoulders and thighs, but he supposed he’d grow into it, his mother always said he would. Six rocks up, Julian glanced down at the Cardassian, who looked thirty-something years old, and was less comfortable climbing rocks. “Hope you don’t mind me asking, sir, but do you have a name? I... seem to have... forgotten...”

The man frowned. From the look in his eyes, seemed to be deciding whether or not to kill Julian.

“Please,” Julian said in a sudden panic, “don’t put that in the report to Starfleet! I’m not usually forgetful, I swear. I really-really- _really_ want to get into genuine frontier medicine, you see, and— Here, let me help!” He hurried down the rock face and stretched out a hand.

The man slapped him away, then reached for a weapon on a belt that wasn’t there.

Julian backed up, shame plunging through his gut. “Sorry. I-I-I didn’t mean... Um. I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I, I’m—”

He scrambled away to hide.

A perfect hiding spot presented itself between the red rocks: a cavern opening, hunched against the wind, where the air howled past and sang a deep, pleasant note, off and on.

Julian wandered close, then took a look around the desert. “Oh! There’s a wreckage out there! _Very_ realistic-looking program, this one. Hm. Say, I’ll set up camp here and then take a look.”

A bulky set of shoulders and a grey hand wobbled into view at the edge of the rock surface, and Julian gasped, tossing down his pack, readying himself for a fight. “I’m warning you!” he said, as his voice turned light and squeaky. “I know kung-fu!”

Suddenly he didn’t know kung-fu, and he scrambled back. The figure who stood tall before him was handsome and blue-eyed and _Cardassian_.

The Cardassian looked at Jules with a careless sniff. “Wo’kno du, hik?”

Jules looked blankly back. “Pardon? I— I haven’t had my Universal Translator calibrated f-for offworld languages yet. My dad says we’ll do it when I’m fourteen so I have time to learn properly first.”

With a cry of disgust, the Cardassian looked at his own clothing, plucking at the loose fabric. He started muttering, pacing onto a more stable rock to take off his pack of supplies, putting it down in confusion, then examining his cuffs and measuring his shoulders with his hands, apparently distraught that his clothes were too big.

“We’re in the same boat there,” Jules said cheekily, right before his trousers and underwear fell down. “Eek!” He blushed furiously, pulling up his trousers and hurrying to lean his back against the cold rock. He hugged his middle, tugging down the turquoise undershirt that peeked out from under an oversized jacket. His trousers really didn’t want to stay up. His shoes dropped right off him as he stepped back.

He glanced up and saw a young Cardassian man ahead, whose eyes were set hungrily on Jules.

Jules’ breath caught and he scrambled back, begging, “No, don’t... don’t hurt me, I—”

The older male paced closer, too tall and imposing – but suddenly a lot less scary when his trousers fell off too, and he tripped over his own shoes.

Jules laughed brightly – only to regret it as the Cardassian stood up, eyes blazing, his ridged jaw set firm. “Du huk’kua _wranklak_!” He sneered and launched himself at Jules, taking an angry swipe at him as Jules shrieked and ran into the mouth of a cave, hearing his own panting voice echoing back at him.

The angry grey beast got to his feet, snarling. He paced forward – only to stop at the entrance to the cave, eyes darting around.

Distant thunder rolled. The sun across the rock darkened for a moment as a cloud passed.

Jules’ shoulders started to press into what seemed like the neckline opening for Daddy’s jacket. One wriggle, and the jacket opened around him, leaving him clutching at the hem of a turquoise dress. He wondered why his feet were so cold.

A thrumming boom drummed on the edge of the world, shaking the rock at Jules’ back.

At the opening to a bright world beyond, a grunting grey beast twice his size leered at him with blue eyes, scales heaving on his neck as he tasted the air at the back of his tongue. Jules was a princess trapped by a horrible dragon. But he couldn’t see a sword anywhere. He was sure it was a test of his strength and intelligence, as every game was these days, but he didn’t like this particular game.

Jules curled up, slipping down the wall.

His heart was thumping. He was scared.

And then he didn’t understand anything.

  


⁂

  


Elim was sure this was a test. Tain liked to give him tests like this all the time. Elim was supposed to kill the weakling, that was the idea. Pick off the runts one by one, until one day he’d look up and realise he’d conquered the herd.

But this seemed too easy. The child was catatonic.

It wrapped its skinny brown arms around its knees, drowning in an awful turquoise fabric that Elim would never have used for anything, let alone a child’s clothing. Didn’t its parents have any fashion sense at all? Elim almost felt bad for the thing.

Tain really was cruel. Here Elim was, caught at the edge of two worlds he couldn’t stand. Thunder was creeping in, purring deeply, making the scales on the back of his neck electrify. He wanted to cower from the noise, hide from the oncoming rain, but the only shelter was a small cave, and the idea of going inside was unbearable.

Yet, the cave seemed to be growing... Or maybe _he_ was shrinking...

Soon Elim’s painfully-heavy tunic touched the rocks under his bare feet. He looked wistfully out into the windy desert realm, wondering if he could fly a kite later. He loved flying kites.

He sat at the edge of the cave, giving his prey a hateful look. “You could run, you know,” he told it. “Make it a challenge.”

 _Leave the cave, at least,_ he thought. Then he wouldn’t need to go inside.

The creature inside wasn’t one Elim recognised. It had no scales, no ridges, and only had fur on its head, and little wispy things over its staring eyes.

“Usually my prey is smaller than me,” Elim said, half to himself, half to the thing he hated. “Tain must really trust me if... if he thinks I’m ready forra... a thing like you. You’re the same size as me.”

The thing looked at him. It blinked.

“Come here,” Elim said sweetly, beckoning. “Come here an’... see the view! We can... um. Um. Sit together. And I won’t push you, I prom-issse.”

The thing rested its pointy chin on its little brown hands, looking worried.

“What are you, anyways?” Elim asked it, shuffling closer, curious.

The thing stared. It had pretty hazel-green eyes, and didn’t blink a whole lot. Did it even need to blink? It tilted its head, intrigued by Elim.

Elim tried to smile, but faltered as thunder rolled overhead. He made sure to relax once it passed, pretending he wasn’t afraid. “Can I tell you a secret?” he whispered to the thing.

The thing didn’t respond.

“If I tell you,” Elim said, “you have to come closer, ‘kay? Rrriiight up to me.”

Blink, blink.

“Um.” Elim fretted, then said, “I don’t... don’t really want to hurt you. Tain says I haff to. Otherwise I don’t get dinner. And I’m already hungry.” He rubbed his middle.

“Now you have to come close.” Elim said firmly. “You promised.”

The thing didn’t understand.

Elim got to his feet and snapped, “You’re a liar! You little brat! You’re _stupid_ and a waste of space.”

The creature didn’t understand any of the words but flinched back from Elim’s tone and aggressive stance. Its eyes turned shiny and it stared as its tears began to fall. Besides that, it didn’t move or respond at all. A tiny whimper echoed quietly through the back of the cave.

Elim started to feel bad. He sat down again, hugging himself the way the other boy hugged himself. “Sorry,” he whispered, sniffing back his own tears. “Sorry.”

The other boy wept in silence, and Elim did the same, stung to the core by the pounding of fresh thunder on the roof of the world. He shuddered and covered his head with both arms, sobbing. “Make it stop, make it stop!”

He threw his head back and called, “Please, I want to stop now! Sir! Tain! Please— _MilaaaAAAaa_! I’m sorry! I can’t do it!”

But nobody ended the holo-program, and nobody came to get him, not even to wrench him up and throw him into a cupboard.

So Elim cried into his hands, rocking back and forth, shaking his head. He hated killing things. Especially things that looked at him with comprehension in his eyes. But the worst prey of all were the creatures that _didn’t_ understand – the ones that knew something was wrong and knew that it hurt and knew they were about to die, but didn’t know _why_. This little boy hiding in the cave was a perfect example of Elim’s worst nightmare.

But then, as Elim paused his sobbing to sniff, he caught sight of the turquoise blob scrambling about.

The boy was looking at the rocks in the cave, touching them, peering at one particularly intently. He sat cross-legged, and examined the rock for several minutes.

And Elim examined the boy.

Utters of incomprehensible sounds came to Elim on the edge of his hearing, and even though he didn’t know this creature’s language, he was sure these weren’t real words. They were simple sounds of surprise and interest – “Aah!” or “Eehee,” and were followed by more sitting and staring. He’d found an insect, and watched it for a while, crawling after it to see where it went.

He wasn’t crying anymore. That was a relief, at least.

Elim trembled at the mouth of the cave, breathing slowly to calm himself. Oh, he hated storms. He couldn’t bear the chill of them, or the way the low sounds got under his scales and seemed to shake him from the inside out. But he hated small spaces more.

Rain began to hiss upon the rocks, tickling at Elim’s toes. He curled his feet under the thick hem of his overlarge tunic, hiding inside its tent.

But it was small in here, too. He whimpered. “Tain, pleeeease...”

“ _Hib ba hummm,_ ” came a buoyant little sing-song voice from inside the cave. “ _La la laaaa humm..._ ”

Elim peeked out.

The boy was singing. He seemed to be singing two different songs, as none of the notes were redeemed, although there was the occasional tease of a pleasant tune.

He’d also lost his insect, so was looking at some moss.

Elim felt his skin grow sticky from the rain. It smelled sweet, but clung to his neck and dribbled down his chest unpleasantly. He wiped his cheeks on the tunic but the tunic was wet too. “Bleh.”

“Habby buuuur...” the boy sang, before being distracted. “Juuuuliaaaaan... toooo youuuu...”

Elim tilted his head. His Universal Translator has definitely caught something there.

“Juuuuliaaaaan?” Elim sang back, wondering what that word meant.

The boy glanced up. They made eye contact.

The boy stared, and stared. Then he said, “Ya?”

Elim realised that sound was his name. “Juuuuliaaaaan,” he said again.

Juuuuliaaaaan stared. “Ya?”

Elim got up, smiling. “Hello, Juuuuliaaaan.”

The boy tilted his head.

“I...” Elim hesitated, knowing Tain would be furious if he realised how eager Elim was to delay the inevitable. But he proceeded anyway: “I’m Elim.”

“Mmmelimm,” Juuulian said.

“Elim.” Elim pointed at himself.

Juuulian tilted his head the other way. Elim wondered if his eyesight wasn’t very good.

“Elim,” Juulian said. “Eeelim.”

Elim giggled, both hands on his tummy. “You’re funny.”

Juulian laughed a few times, little bursts of breath that sounded forced, as if he didn’t really know what they were laughing about but understood that he was supposed to laugh when someone else laughed.

Elim crawled out of the rain, sitting one step in the shelter. “Can we be friends? Jus’ for a little while.”

Juulian sat down next to Elim, looking at him.

Then, he reached out a brown hand—

Elim jerked back, and Juulian retracted his hand with a gasp.

But then Elim inched close again, just as curious about Juulian’s smooth body as his new friend was about the spoon shape on Elim’s forehead.

Elim’s breath shuddered as Juulian touched him, tiny fingers tracing the rounded shape of his forehead ridge, lips parted in awe.

“We’re not supposed to,” Elim whispered. “D— Don’t tell, okay?”

Juulian was too absorbed by the shape of Elim’s facial ridges to respond. Elim smiled, glad to realise there was someone else as interested in touching as he was. Every time he’d tried he’d been whacked with something and scolded.

Elim knelt up, reaching to touch Juulian’s fluffy head fur. One pat; Elim shrieked with delight and wrenched back his hand, feeling his palm tickling. He laughed, then reached out again, gratified as Juulian nuzzled into his palm like a fithal’ma cub.

“Ohh, pretty,” Elim said, cupping Juulian’s smooth face in his hands. “I wanna keep you. You’re so little.” He put a kiss on Juulian’s forehead. “Mwah. You can be my cub.”

But Juulian hissed and squirmed away, swiping at his forehead in disgust. “Ick ick ick ick,” he said, smacking himself. “Ick ick ick.”

“You don’t like kisses?” Elim hugged himself. “But kisses are the best thing in the world.”

“Ick-ick-ick-ick.”

Elim grunted. “Well, sor- _ry_ ,” he said bitterly. “Your species is stupid.”

Juulian calmed down after a while, but only because he saw another insect march past. It was a shiny jade-green beetle with a hard case, and Elim had to admit it was intriguing to watch.

Then his stomach grumbled. He reached for the beetle and lifted it to his mouth—

“AAAAAAAAAAAA _AAAAAAAAAAAeeeeee_ eeeeeeeeeeeeeeee?!”

Elim dropped the bug in alarm. Juulian was _screaming_. The beetle escaped and Juulian kept screaming, hands over his eyes, cheeks turning red.

“Quiet! Quiet!” Elim tried to shove Juulian but the boy kicked him and rolled onto his back, rolling around in despair. “Shut up, I didn’t eat it! Look, it’s there! Look! Look! There, you see it! Now shut up! Shut up before I eat YOU!”

Juulian screamed louder and more intently. Elim had no idea where all that noise was coming from. The boy hadn’t breathed in once.

Elim had had _enough_. He pounced on Juulian, teeth bared, ready to kill. Juulian just cried and cried and went limp in Elim’s grip, and helpfully exposed his neck. Elim snarled and darted down—

Only for Juulian to go quiet, sobbing softly now.

Elim looked at him. Pressed under his weight, Juulian had gone calm, and shut his eyes tiredly, swallowing twice, rather wetly. Elim was perplexed by this, but couldn’t exactly complain.

Gingerly, he got back up – and Juulian flinched, sitting up in a flash, reaching out for Elim.

Elim hesitated, but then... squirmed closer, and wrapped his arms around Juulian.

Juulian relaxed with a big sigh, and _snuggled_. He linked his arms around Elim’s waist and stayed there, quiet and tired and warm.

The rain lashed at the entrance to the cave, trickling past, the swishy rhythm of it joining the low tones of the wind howling past the opening. Thunder cracked and stumbled overhead, but somehow it wasn’t so bad with little Juulian keeping Elim calm.

Elim realised he’d gone deeper into the cave than he’d been before. The knowledge came with a flicker of panic, but he clutched his friend tighter and nuzzled him, comforted by his soft, dusty scent. He smelled... familiar. Wonderfully familiar. Elim faded into the bliss of not being alone anymore.

Soon, the start of a song slipped from his mouth, a nice tune he liked. “Petraaaaa kin’taaaaah, imlaaaa tor,” he sang, high and light, glad to hear that the acoustics in the cave were more beautiful than any he’d heard before. “Listen to the wind, Juulian.”

Juulian listened not to the wind, but to Elim.

They lifted their heads a little, eyes meeting.

“Isnaaaaa kuk’laaaa, imlaaaa no-oo-oor,” Elim sang, comforted and invigorated by the sweet reverberation that came back to him. Singing higher, with all his might, “Petraaaa kul’taaaah imlaaaa telra-a-aas,” and then, low, finally, “Isnaaaa kuk’laaaa imlaaaaa kor.”

He took a deep breath, and let it go in satisfaction.

Juulian blinked. He touched Elim’s lips with his fingertips.

Elim’s lips parted, shocked by the touch. Nobody ever touched his mouth before except to wipe away food.

Juulian patted Elim’s mouth, a gentle smack, smack, which became an eager prying-open of his lips. A wanton little sound came from Juulian.

“Again?” Elim wondered.

Juulian made that sing-song sound again, off key.

Elim sang the verse again.

_Listen closely to the wind_  
_Ear holding to the ground_  
_Listen carefully to the water-flow_  
_Ear holding to the sound._

By the time Elim finished singing, Juulian had his eyes closed, a peaceful look on his face. The peace flickered in the new silence, only for the silence to be filled with dread: thunder coiled its tremendous viper against Elim’s neck. Hoping for the peace Juulian had found, Elim fell back into the song again, singing it over, and over, and over, until he only paused for breath before singing it again.

After perhaps ten minutes, having heard the song a dozen times, Juulian began to hum a couple of the same notes as Elim did.

Elim started to smile, realising he was enjoying himself. It wasn’t just a good way to distract from this torturous test, but something he realised he loved doing. Singing was always a frivolous thing, something to enjoy on special occasions, like dessert, or games. But he liked not being told to stop, or told he was doing it wrong. Juulian didn’t know what the lullaby was meant to sound like so had no corrections to impart.

After another fifty listens, Juulian eventually hit all the right notes, swaying with the tempo of the song. He rose when Elim rose, and went low when Elim went low, and soon, their eyes met, and they shared joyous smiles as they _harmonised_.

The sounds chimed through the dark cave, swooping under and over the brash bassline of the thunder, sparkling in Elim’s body and lifting his heart in a way that made him want to laugh. But he dared not break this spell; he adored every heartbeat, each little trill and tumble of their tiny voices. Together their song was mightier than the storm, or fear, or the differences between them.

Juulian started to sing the words at the end of every line. “Tor,” at the first, “nor,” at the second. He had trouble with “telras,” but seemed to appreciate the repetitive sound of “imla” in each line. _To the._ A simple joining phrase. _Listen closely to the wind. Listen closely to the sound._

  


  


Elim wasn’t sure how much time passed, only aware that his voice had begun to ache, his mouth tired, the corners of his lips stiff and his cheeks growing numb. The back of his tongue felt heavy, too, but kept singing, as Juulian was only a few sounds away from knowing the whole verse.

Elim was sure other children didn’t take this long to learn the words to such a short and simple rhyme. But he was also sure that none of them liked to sing or listen as well as Juulian did. He was so responsive, and so appreciative of what he heard. Elim knew so many Cardassian words these days, and had been praised for his intelligence more than anything else, yet he’d never had a better conversation than the one he was having now, with a little boy who couldn’t speak his language, and could hardly speak at all.

But, the unavoidable conclusion strolled up to meet them. Elim knew he couldn’t keep a singing cub as a pet. Tain would never allow it. Yet Elim couldn’t bear to kill him. Maybe they could run away together and sing lullabies forever.

Juulian was the first to fall asleep. His singing only came in whispers, and eventually his head lolled, tucked warmly to Elim’s chest. Elim kept on with the lullaby, but it was slow and breathy, and eventually he paused between lines, trying to remember the next one...

  


⁂

  


A funny _be-blip_ sound woke Elim, and he lifted his head.

A tall woman with sleek hair tied back behind her head stood in the entrance to the cave. “I’ve found them, Captain.” She smiled, and in the faint sky-glow of the now-passed storm, Elim saw she had delicate dark patches parading down the side of her face. “They’re alive – and they look unhurt, besides the age regression.”

Elim wasn’t sure what to do. His friend was still asleep and moving would wake him. Juulian might scream if he was startled, and Elim knew as well as anyone that screaming when cornered elicited one of two responses: the predator would strike, or it would retreat. Being the prey, he didn’t have the luxury of guessing which.

Another woman appeared at the newcomer’s side, slightly shorter and dressed in red. A huge smile drew wide from her red lips, and she crooned, “Awwww, they’re _adorable_.”

She crouched low and crept forward, saying softly, “Heyyy. Hey, Garak, it’s okay. It’s okay. We’re going to take you home.”

Elim didn’t know how she knew his last name. He pressed back into the rock, taking Juulian with him. Juulian stirred, murmuring, snuggling closer to Elim.

“Come on,” the red woman said, almost in a whisper. “We won’t hurt you. I’m Kira. Do you remember me?”

The taller woman shook her head, looking bothered. She hit the metal shape on her chest (that was what made the _be-blip_ sound) and said, “We’re going to have to figure out how to age them up.”

A deeper male voice replied from nowhere, “ _How young are they?_ ”

“Both about six,” the woman at the entrance replied. “By Human years.”

Elim hissed at Kira, snapping his teeth towards her when she reached for him.

She retreated, looking at her friend in worry. “They don’t recognise us.”

The taller woman fretted and frowned, then cocked her head to her friend and backed up. “Come on. We’re blocking them in. Garak’s clearly terrified.”

“What about Bashir?” Kira stepped back, but looked worriedly at Elim’s cub friend. “He’s half-asleep. We could just take him.”

Another male voice said, “ _Can’t get a transporter lock through the cave. Dammit. Tell Julian that his friend Miles is looking for him, that’ll do it._ ”

“Miles, he’s pre-augment,” the taller woman said. “I couldn’t even tell you if he knows his own name right now.”

“Juuuliaaan,” Elim said.

The woman looked at him sharply. Kira clutched her friend’s arm. “Jadzia, did he just—?”

“I think he did,” Jadzia said warmly, with a growing smile. She crouched. “Hey, Garak...? Is that your name?”

Elim hesitated, then nodded.

“We want to take you home,” Jadzia said softly. “To a safe place. We’re not going to hurt you, or Julian.”

 _Julian_. They said it wrong. They were supposed to sing it.

Juulian breathed in, squirming as he lifted out of sleep. Elim hugged him, trying to stop him from seeing the strangers in case he got scared.

“Hm?” Juulian looked up. He smiled _so_ big and _so_ wide when he saw Elim. He touched Elim’s pudgy nose and cried out in joy – then nuzzled against Elim’s chin like the cub he was, and Elim couldn’t help but laugh.

It felt weird that the two woman laughed too, though. Elim growled at them.

But the growl ignited Juulian’s curiosity, and he swivelled to see the women. Strangely, he seemed uninterested in them. He blinked. Then he turned back to Elim and began to sing, “Petraaaa kin’taaaah imlaaaa tor...”

Elim sang with him, but he thought about the adults outside, who’d turned their backs and were sitting with the bulky bags of something-or-other that were all wet from the rain.

Kira glanced back, smiling. “Petra kin’tah,” she told Jadzia. “It’s a song Cardassian families sing with, or _to_ their children, teaching them to use their ears. Probably need the help, too, given how bad their hearing is.”

Jadzia glanced back briefly, shaking her head in thought. “All that de-aging power is in the outermost layer of the planet. We know the Defiant’s shields protected _us_ from the temporal distortion, and the massive damage that space rock did to the Ferengi ship is what caused the thermospheric layer to affect these two. So, what we need is a way we can get _all_ of us out of the atmosphere inside the Defiant, but only drop the shields for these two. That way, they’ll get a reverse blast while the rest of us are protected.”

“Mm.” Kira pursed her lips. “Drop the Defiant’s shields as we break out? And put the rest of us in a containment unit so we won’t be exposed. Captain, what’s your stance on smashing through the thermosphere without shields?”

The deep voice sighed through the badge she wore. “ _If it gets us our doctor back then I’m not going to argue._ ”

“ _And what if it doesn’t?_ ” Miles said worriedly. “ _What happens if Julian’s stuck as a six-year-old forever?_ ”

Jadzia and Kira shared a look. Jadzia then remarked, “Hey, I’d raise him; I have the parenting experience. Looks like it’s a two-for-one, though. He seems pretty attached to Garak.”

“ _What do you mean, attached?_ ”

“I mean they’re obviously inseparable,” Jadzia said.

“As in,” Kira said, “arms around each other, singing to each other, Garak bites if you get too close.”

Miles sighed. “ _Figures._ ”

Kira got to her feet. “Come on.” She went back into the cave, crawling – and was briefly startled when a green beetle rushed past. She sat cross-legged in front of Elim and Juulian, and nodded along to the song.

Then, after a while, she sang, “Petraaa kin’taaah imlaaa tor...”

Elim smiled when her voice added a new, warm layer to the mush of tired childish voices. She was beautiful and her voice was lovely, and she shut her eyes so trustingly, enjoying the song.

Jadzia watched from outside, muttering to her absent friends, “You hear that?”

“ _Yeah,_ ” Miles said. “ _That’s.... That’s bloody beautiful. What is that?_ ”

“That’s the sound of two scared, lonely little boys making a friend, Chief.”

After almost fifteen minutes, Kira stopped singing and went to the entrance to the cave. She said to her crew, “Hey, here’s an idea. Could one of you replicate something to eat? Something six-year-olds like to eat. And beam it down.”

The captain laughed. “ _You’re going to bait them out with dinner?_ ”

“Hey, they’ve been here six hours and haven’t opened their supply packs. Their bellies are tiny. _Yeah_ , I’m gonna bait them with food.”

A whirring light appeared at the cave mouth, and Elim gasped, voice vanishing as he saw a plate of something brown and blobby appear as the light faded.

Kira wrinkled her already-wrinkled Bajoran nose. “What _is_ that?”

Miles sounded confused. “ _Spaghetti and meatballs. Was the only thing Julian ate when he was that age. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Liked the texture, or something._ ”

Jadiza laughed, while Kira poked some food into her mouth to try it. With an expression that said it was kinda nice, she took it into the cave and offered it to Elim.

Elim expected her to let him get close, and then wrench the food away to lure him out of the cave – but she handed it right to him, and then gave him a fork.

Elim was confused.

Kira smiled and left.

Juulian stopped singing and rocking in place long enough to be enticed by the food. Elim took a few bites, realised it was yummy, and began shovelling it into his mouth. Juulian opened his mouth expectantly. So Elim poked a meatball onto a fork and fed it to his friend, and Juulian made a lot of content eating noises, then swallowed and opened his mouth again.

The plate emptied, and Juulian licked it clean. Elim never let his eyes stray from the women, but he was starting to suspect they were actually nice – not just pretending.

“ _Not to worry anyone,_ ” Miles said, “ _but I’m picking up some strange readings from that time-altering thermo-layer above the planet._ ”

“What kind of strange?” Jadzia asked.

“ _Uh. The kind that says if we don’t leave in the next twenty minutes the magnetism at the poles reverses and we could be exposing Julian and Garak to a future version of them so far ahead they’ll be grey-haired and walking with canes by dinnertime. Theoretically. Either that or it’ll just feel extra tingly. Couldn’t tell ya._ ”

The women exchanged a glance.

Then they nodded, firmly.

Kira stood up, stretching nonchalantly. Jadzia lounged for a moment longer, then got up, staging a yawn.

Elim knew those signs. They were about to pounce. He got up and stood in front of Juulian, wielding his fork as a weapon. “Stay back,” he said. “I’ve killed before.”

Kira didn’t look surprised, but Jadzia looked horrified.

“Oh, you poor thing,” Jadzia whispered.

“No time for sympathy,” Kira said, pulling out her phaser. She adjusted it low, then looked at Elim with a sorry softness in her hard eyes. “Look, kid, I don’t wanna do this. It won’t hurt you, I promise, but unless you come with us you and Julian are going to be in a lot of danger.”

Juulian started to sing, a tremor in his voice. He tugged at Elim’s puddling tunic hem, wanting his company. But Elim couldn’t even spare him a glance.

Juulian tugged and tugged but Elim shook his head—

As one more desperate attempt to get his friend’s attention went ignored, Juulian began to wail, his song broken into a drone of despair. A low moan became a shriek, and his hands started pounding on his own head, thumping – yet still Elim couldn’t look for more than a split second. He was already occupied, jabbing at Kira as she tried to wrest the fork from him.

“Now!” Kira yelped to Jadzia. Jadzia fired her phaser at Garak. Garak gasped, stumbling back. He sat down heavily, starting to feel woozy.

“I’m so sorry, Garak,” Jadiza said softly.

Elim looked at Juulian, his only friend in the world...

Through his tears and maddened, wounded screams, Juulian looked back, reaching for Elim’s hand.

  


⁂

  


Julian sniffed awake, sitting up so fast that he hit his head on the bunk of the bed above. “Ow.” He lay back down, dizzy and disoriented. Rubbing his head, he looked around, and saw the dark walls and metal flooring of the Defiant’s sleeping compartment.

He swung his long legs out of bed, only to realise he was naked from the waist down. Tugging down his turquoise undershirt, which didn’t cover much at all, he patted around until he found a blanket to wrap around his waist.

On his feet, he looked about, relieved to find his uniform folded on a shelf nearby. He reached for it, dropping the blanket to put on his underwear—

“Oh! Demik fedh’ar.” Garak halfway shielded his eyes, peering down from the top bunk. He wore a tentative smile, which became apologetic and shy. He cleared his throat and sat up, bare legs dangling. “Pok te dumas re tunkar in makma-nor,” he said, in a way that sounded a little inviting.

He hopped down, exposing himself briefly, making Julian blush and look away, fighting down a laugh.

Garak came to him, taking his own clothes from the same shelf. Their eyes met.

“Pok...” Garak lowered his eyes, and winced. “In hunakans.”

Julian shook his head. “No. I don’t understand.”

Garak gulped. “Pok...”

“No, no, I don’t—” Julian flashed a smile, head down as he did up his trousers. “I don’t mean I can’t appreciate the sentiment. I mean my translator’s still off.”

“Ah.” Garak smiled. He gestured encouragingly towards the Defiant’s nearest computer panel. “Gun’ka agra, in amdor doctor.”

Julian took a breath. “Um. Computer? Turn on my Universal Translator.”

He looked calmly at Garak. “You were saying?”

“I.” Garak sighed, one hand over his eyes. He turned away, pulling up his trousers under his tunic, tying the waist, then looking back sadly at Julian. “I wish to offer my apologies for my actions, before. At the time, I believed we were in mortal danger, perhaps in the most abrupt sense of the word. I believed we were out of time and chances, doctor. I thought if I didn’t act in that moment I’d never have another opportunity.”

Julian remembered hearing Garak say the word ‘chance’... right before he kissed him.

“Cardassians don’t have a concept of luck,” Julian said. “So you’d have no word for something like ‘chance’.”

Garak kept his eyes averted. “Again. My apologies.”

Julian wasn’t sure how to respond. “Um. Um. Ah— Apology... accepted, I suppose.”

Garak hung his head in a nod. He then left the room, and headed for the bridge.

Julian took a few deep breaths, steeling his nerves. He had no idea what to do with himself. He was a comfortable height again, but his throat was sore and his mouth tasted like meatballs. This whole ordeal felt like it had happened to someone else but he _felt_ it in his skin: it had happened to him. There was cave dirt on his bare feet. He still smelt Garak’s scent in his nostrils. Still felt the shape of his tender-soft spoon under tiny fingertips, which weren’t so tiny anymore. They almost looked too big to him now.

He remembered how easily overwhelmed he had been as a child... and how warm his heart became as Elim comforted him, held him, pressed him down until he felt safe. Julian had forgotten how his mother used to do that to calm him, and had given him weighted blankets and heavy toys full of beans or sand. All that had changed the day his parents and those doctors messed with his brain.

A sting of hatred boiled up through him at the thought. He’d never been what his parents wanted, but if they hadn’t been prepared for someone like him, if they hadn’t been willing to continue treating him the way he needed to be treated, rather than exchanging him for someone else in the same body, then they never should have had children. Julian had struggled to live that life, so long ago, and felt free now it was behind him, but it _hurt_ to feel relief. He’d stolen Jules’ life, and little Jules had been erased completely.

He knew it wasn’t his fault. The knowledge hit him harder now more than ever: _none_ of this was his fault. Not even the fact that he’d always felt safer and stronger and freer since the big change. After all, he had never been allowed to feel valued or successful before. He was a constant disappointment to the people he loved, so of course he only found a personal sense of value after being... well, in his parents’ opinion, “cured”. He’d been conditioned to only feel loved through being ‘high-functioning’. No wonder he loved to show off, and couldn’t bear to leave anyone underwhelmed. No wonder he fell into a dark, manic despair whenever he failed at anything. No wonder that, despite knowing he was good at almost everything, he still hated himself for not being perfect.

Julian looked into a reflective panel on the wall, catching sight of his solemn figure looking back. Was there any of him left? Anything left of little Jules Bashir, who liked to sing, and cried when someone hurt a shiny beetle?

Looking down and away, Julian gathered his emotions together and set them aside.

He slipped on his shoes and went to the bridge, putting on a smile for his friends.

“Oh, heyy, welcome back,” Jadzia chirped, standing up to hug him tightly. “I tell you, I was halfway through making my mind up to adopt you. I’m sure Worf would’ve rather done a backflip and boogied down in front of the Ops crew before he agreed to that, but, just saying.”

Julian gave her a smile. “Strange as it is... I appreciate that, Jadzia.”

“You were a cute kid,” Kira said, throwing him a light look. She pursed her lips and let her eyes roam to Garak, too. “Both of you.”

Garak looked pointedly haughty, nose in a mug of tea. “I assure you, I was nothing but an impudent terror at that age.”

“Oh, I beg to differ,” Julian said, touching Garak’s arm. “Seemed rather sweet to me.”

Sisko sat at the controls, guiding the Defiant on towards DS9. “I expect that statement in writing, Doctor,” he said firmly. “Last I heard, our tailor was threatening Major Kira with an item of cutlery.”

Kira snorted. “Hey, if I got taken down by a six-year-old with a fork after surviving the Cardassian Occupation, I think I deserve the scratches.”

Even Garak chuckled at that.

Once Julian had some Tarkalean tea in his hands, he noticed Miles looking at him from his side of the bridge.

“What?” Julian asked.

“You’re not going to start singing, are you?” Miles asked.

Julian gulped too-hot tea in a rush. “No. Definitely not.”

Garak glanced at him, then away, perhaps disappointed.

“Pity,” Miles said carelessly, guiding the Defiant towards DS9’s docking ring. “Sounded pretty good.”

Julian caught Garak’s tiny smile as he glanced his way again. And, just for the heck of it, Julian smiled back.

  


⁂

  


“Petraaaa kin’taaaah imlaaa tor...”

Julian tsked, switching off the lights in his quarters and striding towards his bedroom. He’d caught himself singing that song absent-mindedly ever since they docked back home that afternoon. He hadn’t had a tune stuck this firmly in his head since Quark released a ten-track musical album, all with the extremely subliminal suggestions to patronise his bar, with lyrics such as “Stroll down the Promenade hand-in-hand; pop into Quark’s for drinks on demand,” and “Blessed be thy holosuite, dabo table (and fully-stocked bar!),” sung in a four-man barbershop arrangement.

Julian got into his pyjamas, then went to brush his teeth, but found himself humming around his sonic toothbrush. Back in his living room, one quiet moment and – “Petraaaa kin’taaah imlaaa tor...”

He grunted. Good God, this thing was maddening. He needed to sing it properly.

So he did. Every last line.

“Not right!” he exclaimed, hands flared out. “Computer, lights.”

He sighed, hands over his face. “Computer, harmonise my singing with an echo, please. Petraaaa kin’taaaah imlaaa tor...”

He went through the whole song again, then stamped his foot in frustration. The echo wasn’t right. His voice was too deep now and it just wasn’t the _same_ singing to a computer.

He tried the same again, holding Kukalaka in his hands and singing to him, but it still wasn’t any use.

“Computer, locate Elim Garak.”

“ _Elim Garak is in his quarters._ ”

Julian stuffed Kukalaka in his robe’s pocket, stormed out into the hall, barefoot, got into the turbolift, and stalked his way down the curved corridors until he reached Garak’s place on the Habitat Ring. He thumbed the doorbell and heard it chime.

Some rustling came from inside, then a curious, “Come in?”

The doors opened, and Julian saw Garak tying his robe over glossy black bedclothes. Julian only then realised he was also in his nightwear, but then supposed it didn’t matter at all. He stepped inside and smiled when Garak said, “Ah, a pleasure beyond pleasures to see you again so soon, my dear doctor. What can I do for you so late at night?”

Julian had no words. No words in his native language, anyway. “Petraaaa kin’taaaah imlaaa tor...”

Garak’s eyeridges rose. “Isnaaaa kuk’laaa imlaaa nor?” he sang back, in time with Julian, although he sounded unsure about it..

Julian stepped closer through the sweltering heat of the room. “Petraaa kul’taaah imlaaa telraa-a-aas...”

Somehow, they fell into it, Garak’s gorgeous baritone bringing out the richness of Julian’s tenor, helping him sing lower and lower until they flew together, Julian’s heart soaring on a silly little lullaby, suddenly so much more than a song – it was everything to him. _Listen_ , it said. _Listen to him._

The moments before they’d kissed— _In case I never get another chance, my dear doctor_ —

Garak had been _waiting_. He’d no doubt expressed his love a hundred times, or a thousand; he said it every time he said Julian’s name, or called him ‘my dear doctor’. _In amdor Jul’ian. In amdor doctor. In amdor._ He’d been waiting so long, and in the moments before they forgot each other, he thought he’d run out of time.

They’d been given all the time they needed, now. Yet there wasn’t a second to waste.

Julian sang to him again, voice breaking as he took Garak’s hand. “Isnaaaa kuk’laaaa imlaaa kor...”

Garak fell silent at the end of the verse, and Julian faltered when he realised he was singing alone.

Garak looked at their joined hands.

“Doctor...”

Julian stepped close, eyes on Garak’s chin, then rising to his eyes. “Yes.”

Slowly, hopefully, Garak met his eyes. “There’s a second verse.”

Julian’s heart flipped in excitement. “Teach it to me.”

“I shall. Only, it may take me a moment to remember...” He slipped from Julian’s touch, lost in memories. He drifted to the window, looking out, then tilted his head. “I know Mila sang it to me in my crib... Perhaps if I...” Then he drifted ghost-like towards his bedroom, and Julian hesitated, then followed.

Garak took off his robe, sat down on his bed in the dim red lights, eyes up as he wondered.

Then he kicked off his slippers and lay back, resting his hands on his middle.

Julian went to sit at the side of his bed, looking down at his friend. Feeling a lump against his thigh, however, he took Kukalaka from his pocket, stroked his soft head, and propped him up on Garak’s nightstand.

“Lie with me,” Garak said, hand out to beckon, eyes distant. “You’re distracting me.”

Julian let out a slow breath. He smiled and slipped his fingers between Garak’s, startling him with such immediate intimacy. But Julian lay down with him in the empty part of the bed, still holding Garak’s hand, and gazed at him with new reverence.

Despite all the horrors Garak had suffered through as a child, as a teenager, and as an adult, he was still the charming and caring, if somewhat acetic child he once was. If that curious, touch-starved boy named Elim was still within him now, then Julian supposed there may have been some of Jules still inside himself.

Like Jules, he still felt pain when someone else was hurting. He simply understood the needs of more than just shiny green beetles. He understood people in ways he never did before. But the connections he made with them were just as fierce as they were back then. He still struggled to trust, but once he did, his loyalty was nigh-unbreakable.

“You must understand,” Garak said, thumb stroking Julian’s, still in awe of the touch but trying to hide it, “the Cardassian people are very fond of our planets, the places we call home. You know the word ‘ _nor_ ’?”

“Terok Nor,” Julian said. “That’s here, Deep Space Nine. The other one was Empok Nor. ‘ _Nor_ ’ means... ‘station’, or ‘base’—”

“Or ‘ground’, or ‘body’, yes. It’s the solid foundation from which everything is built. We add prefixes... For instance, the physical body is ‘ _makma-nor_ ’, meaning, literally, ‘blood-body’ or ‘blood-ground’.”

“I see.”

“‘ _Makma-por_ ’ is ‘blood-beat’, or, as you call it, ‘heart’.”

Julian listened, his attention rapt. He rolled to face Garak, finding his pillow softer than his own and his bed more comfortable as his shoulder sank into it. He recognised Garak’s scent from the cave, and he was soothed by it.

“The word ‘our’,” Garak went on, “as in, you and me—” he glanced at Julian and then held his eyes, “is a compound of ‘you’ and ‘me’, quite appropriately. So it becomes ‘ _indu_ ’.”

“‘ _In_ ’ being ‘me’ or ‘my’ – and ‘ _du_ ’ being ‘you’,” Julian recalled, having retrospectively pieced together much of what Garak had said while the translator had been off.

Garak nodded. “Clever man.”

Julian smiled. “Thank you,” he said, not adding that he’d found it incredibly easy. It was nice to be complimented after having his confidence shaken earlier.

“And ‘ _dulma_ ’...” Garak paused, going quiet and still, eyes unfocused. Then he met Julian’s gaze, and said, “It means ‘home’. A building, its natural surroundings, a way of life, a group of people, or a single other person, a sense of belonging— ‘ _Dulma_ ’ is ‘home’.”

“All right?”

Garak bowed his head. “It begins...”

“Wait,” Julian whispered. He called out to the ceiling, “Computer, turn off my Universal Translator.”

Garak smiled at him, affection roundening his eyes and leaving a tilt on his lips. He took a breath, and began to sing with incredible care, eyes gently shut, voice fragile and croaky.

_Petra inta makma-por..._  
_Isna inta makma-nor_  
_In makma-por ik indu dulma_  
_Por’la ra du indu kor._

Julian opened his eyes, surprised to find his vision blurred with tears. He’d been translating as Garak sang.

He began to whisper what he’d understood.

_Listen to my blood-beat (heart)_  
_Ear to my blood-ground (body)_  
_My heart and our home_  
_Beat for you you-me (our) song._

Garak inclined his head again, a proud gleam in his eyes. “Yesss. In amdor Juuul’ian.”

Julian’s heart and breath fluttered. He nudged forward and gave Garak the softest, tiniest kiss on the lips, then fell back to the pillow they now shared, sucking his own lower lip.

Garak gazed at him, stunned. “Juul’ian—”

Julian kissed him again, laughing partway through the contact. He grinned above Garak, whispering, “I love how you say my name. Elim. Elim.” A whisper, eyes shut, lips together, touching, “ _Elim_...”

Elim kissed him, hands in Julian’s hair. Thick, bold kisses overtook them, Julian’s breath too hot and too eager, smiles interrupting each otherwise-smooth transition between their open-mouthed kisses. Garak rolled them over, holding Julian down when he tried to wrestle him back – only for Julian to lie still, unexpectedly content to be here, such a weight on him.

“Petraaa intaaa makmaaa-por,” Elim sang, a twinkle in his eyes.

Julian threw his head back, chuckling. “Isnaaa intaaa makmaaa-nor...”

The next lines hit harder than before, kuk’la in Julian’s heart. Clutching tight like nothing else.

_My heart and our home_  
_Beat for you our song._

As Elim rolled onto his back again, Julian closed his eyes and rested his cheek on Elim’s chest. Elim stroked his hair, and Julian listened closely, as he was compelled to do by the lullaby he loved so much.

This heart was a gift for him.

Just as Julian’s blood-beat was a gift for Elim.

Now there could never be a journey shorter than the one falling back to each other. They could be each other’s dulma. At last, they’d made their journey _home_.

And ‘ _a home with Elim Garak_ ’ was most definitely the most beautiful thing Julian had ever heard.

**{ the end }**

**Author's Note:**

> ☆ [art post on tumblr!](https://almaasi.tumblr.com/post/190468817550/heres-a-7k-garashir-fic-thunder-song-wherein)  
> ☆ [text-only reblog~](https://almaasi.tumblr.com/post/190468904510/thunder-song)
> 
> [Here's some more DS9 fics!](https://archiveofourown.org/works?utf8=%E2%9C%93&commit=Sort+and+Filter&work_search%5Bsort_column%5D=revised_at&include_work_search%5Bfandom_ids%5D%5B%5D=8474&work_search%5Bother_tag_names%5D=&work_search%5Bexcluded_tag_names%5D=&work_search%5Bcrossover%5D=&work_search%5Bcomplete%5D=&work_search%5Bwords_from%5D=&work_search%5Bwords_to%5D=&work_search%5Bdate_from%5D=&work_search%5Bdate_to%5D=&work_search%5Bquery%5D=&work_search%5Blanguage_id%5D=&user_id=almaasi) More coming every week or so, because I am DEEP into a Garashir hyperfixation and I'm not sorry. [Subscribe HERE](https://archiveofourown.org/users/almaasi/pseuds/almaasi) if you want updates in your inbox! (There will also be Destiel and Good Omens fics forthcoming.)
> 
> Thank you for reading this, space friends! Special shoutout to all the neuroatypical/neurodivergent/autistic folks out there. You are loved and valued just as you are ♥
> 
> Elmie x


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